


...and Pieces

by missmichellebelle



Series: Drabbles [2]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 14,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated CrissColfer drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jungle Cruise Skipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **07/11/12**.
> 
> Basically crack inspired from Darren in his NYC APOCALYPTOUR get-up. If you’re not familiar with Disneyland’s Jungle Cruise, you can ride along [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MO9zchZyL9s).
> 
> Just a snippet, never finished.

Chris knows it’s a problem when the people who work at Disneyland start recognizing him.

It’s half because, okay, he’s there a lot because he loves Disneyland, but it’s also because he tends to see a lot of them out of the park, too. However, it’s mostly due to the fact that Darren, according to several reputable sources, talks about Chris  _a lot_.

But knowing people helps, when he waits in line for the Jungle Cruise and they keep him off to the side. It’s the same every single time until, of course, one particular boat docks.

"Have fun, Christopher," the loader says, a girl named Susie who takes him by the elbow and helps him into the front. He just throws her a look.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the Jungle Cruise! Now, I’m going to need you all to scoot all the way down by me, and remember! The tighter you get together, the better the boat’s heating system works."

Chris bites his lip to suppress a laugh, sitting down right beside the so-called “guide."

"How many of you are on the Jungle Cruise for the first time?"

Chris watches as a few timid people raise their hands and a few kids seem insanely excited by the idea.

"Good! So am I. Now everyone turn around and wave goodbye to all those beautiful people on the dock. Goodbye! Goodbye!"

Chris tries not to laugh as he waves much less enthusiastically than the captain.

"We’re probably never going to see them again! Now hello! And welcome to the world famous Jungle Cruise."

The jazz hands really aren’t necessary in Chris’s opinion.

"My name is Darren and I’ll be your skipper, captain, tour guide, and dance instructor for the next five exciting days and six romantic nights!" Darren gestures broadly to the jungle surrounding them. “Now they say a captain always goes down with his ship, so if we run into trouble, I’d like to introduce you to your new captain."

Darren turns to Chris and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"What was your name again?" As if Darren doesn’t actually know his name, but he’s really hamming it up. He even  _winks_  at Chris.

"Chris," he responds, and Darren claps him on the shoulder.

"Chris." Darren repeats with a smile, before setting his hand back on the boat controls. “Now!" He turns back to the group with enthusiasm. “Just a few reminders for you folks today. Please remain seated at all times, and keep your hands inside the boat. If you don’t, well, the crocodiles are always looking for a handout."


	2. Monsieur Guillotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **10/31/12**.
> 
> Inspired by [Chris's Halloween costume](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcrpmjRNDt1qgfb58o2_250.png).

"And here I thought you couldn’t top a llama assassin."

Chris turns around, eyebrow raising as Darren strides over with his hands in his pockets.

"Well, I’m just full of surprises," Chris replies with a bit of haughtiness, tilting his chin into the air. Darren’s face cracks in a grin. “So what are you supposed to be?"

"Oh, you know. An eighteen year old who is really depressed because he’s spending Christmas alone when  _all he wants for Christmas is Kurt_." Darren is crooning by the end of it, pressing his hands to his heart.

"Shame we covered that song last year," Chris mutters. “But I have to give you points for creativity, and laziness."

"I do what I can." Darren nudges against his shoulder, playfully. “But the prize for creativity goes to you. I can’t believe you’re a fucking guillotine."

"You know how I feel about the French Revolution," Chris shoots back, almost defensively.

"Chris, everyone knows how you feel about the French Revolution." Darren reaches across Chris for the chair beside him, tugging at blue synthetic until he has a fake head by the hair.

"Hey, you leave my dismembered head alone."

"You are so fucking crafty. Like, shit, look at this thing." Darren holds it up in front of his face. “Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope."

"Wow, Princess Leia has had some serious work done."

"She’s channeling her inner Lady Gaga," Darren explains, fingers playing with the strands hanging down from the head. “Digging the glittery entrails, though, although that leads me to believe that it was some sort of droid Princess Leia you beheaded. Good job, Chris, for aiding the Rebel Cause."

"If I didn’t know that I could do it, I would wonder how the fuck you could connect Star Wars to the French Revolution."

"It’s a gift," Darren says with a grin. He swings the head around before setting it back down, but he doesn’t move back out of Chris’s space, pausing there as he looks around. “I have to say that your layout choice for your costume is very questionable," he says, quietly.

"Is that so?" Chris drops his voice to match, heart picking up speed at Darren’s proximity.

"It looks like an invitation to me." Darren’s voice is so quiet that it’s almost like a purr, and his eyes drop down to the box decorating Chris’s hips and then work their way slowly back up.

"Maybe it is," Chris counters, challenging, and Darren’s eyes look darker as his smirk turns mischievous.

"Well then," Darren says, pulling back a bit, the glint still in his eyes. “I accept." There’s a call for him, and he tosses his head over his shoulder and gives a wave of his hand to show that he heard. When he turns back, he flashes Chris one more smile, full of knowing.

"Looking forward to my execution, Christopher."


	3. Flop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **12/16/12**.

"Honey, I’m home!"

"You can’t say that when you don’t live here!" Chris calls, not turning away from the TV. “I’m going to stop leaving a spare key outside," he threatens, without any real malice. Darren just letting himself into Chris’s house has just become… Normal, really.

Then again, things with Darren are never really normal. Which Darren proves, when he walks straight over to where Chris is lounging on the couch and just flops on top of him. Chris isn’t quite sure what to do with the fact that Darren is currently a big pile of dead weight on him.

"Uh. Hi."

“‘Mm tired," Darren mumbles.

"Yeah, that’s what beds are for." Chris shifts, and then grunts when it becomes apparent that Darren really is just going to lay on him like a sack of potatoes. “Okay, funny, get off now."

"Mmm, no, comfy."

Chris sighs, exasperated, wiggling around to see if he can dislodge Darren—but to no avail.

"I’m going to push you on the floor."

"No you aren’t," Darren murmurs sleepily, and Chris knows there’s not even a point of trying to make Darren believe him. Experience has taught him that the best way to show Darren he isn’t bluffing is to follow through on his word.

So he shoves Darren onto the floor.

"FUCK!"

Chris winces at the sound, and then leans over the couch and stares down at him.

"Told you."

"God, you’re such an asshole."

"If you want to sleep,  _go home_."

"Home is where the heart is, Chris," Darren mumbles, rubbing at his head, and Chris falters, flipping onto his back and groaning up at the ceiling.

"I hate you." He rubs his hands over his face, and then looks back over the edge of the couch. “Get back up here, you idiot."


	4. Please Don't Be Shingles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **03/24/13**.
> 
> Written for [my](http://bookendsbychris.tumblr.com) and [Becca's](http://surfsupdarren.tumblr.com) CrissColfer Soulmate RP.

It’s kind of weird to come back to his empty apartment above Bookends after,  _well_ , all of  _that_. Chris doesn’t usually socialize, much less at the grocery store, and it’s left a pleasant buzz beneath his skin. Darren had stuck with him the whole rest of the way through grocery shopping, and it was an experience, to say the least. But a nice experience, definitely. It might have taken Chris twice as long as it would have normally, but he certainly enjoyed talking to someone rather than just drowning out the world with music.

And Darren and him had talked, although not really about anything Chris can recall now. It hadn’t been about anything important—in fact, it was as insignificant as what kind of lettuce mix Chris could get to inappropriate popsicle comments in the frozen aisle. 

Remembering it now, Chris smiles.

But it’s still nice to be away, if only because Chris has a fucking  _infestation_  in his underwear or something. He hurries through the store and up the back stairs, until he’s tucked into his apartment and dropping groceries on his kitchen table. He tugs the edge of his jeans and boxers down just enough, able to make out irritated red skin, but there aren’t any bites that he can see.

He better not be getting shingles. He had chicken pox as a child. He  _paid_  that debt to society already.

Chris figures he’ll put some lotion on it before bed, and that’ll be that. It’s late, much later than he expected to get home, and now he doesn’t even want to deal with trying to write. And he has the luxury of time—it’s still a few days until his next deadline. He puts away the perishable groceries, and the things Brian might get into, and leaves everything else for the morning.

Brian is already sprawled out on Chris’s bed, in the empty space nobody sleeps in—well, Chris might as well just start calling it Brian’s side of the bed at this point. He looks a little longingly at his laptop, but he has to do restock tomorrow and he needs his energy.

He pops a sleeping pill, trades his henley for a t-shirt, and strips down to his underwear.

“I met someone at the grocery store,” he tells Brian, because in the safe, non-judgmental walls of his apartment, Chris can openly talk to his cat and not feel weird about it. Brian lifts his head and looks at him, and then tucks his face under his paw. “It was… Weird. But a good weird?” Chris turns on his side, reaching out and stroking over his cat’s fur until rumbling purrs vibrate beneath his palm.

“He touched me, but… Nothing happened.” Chris doesn’t know why that hurts as much as it does. Maybe because he honestly likes Darren, even if he is sort of an asshole and ruffles Chris’s feathers more often than other people. Then again, maybe Chris’s feathers need a little ruffling.

Wow, there’s a sexual innuendo if  _he’s_  ever heard one.

“Kind of wish it had,” Chris continues, feebly, and then sighs, closing his eyes. Because wishing doesn’t make marks appear on his skin, and he just needs to accept the fact that Darren is just another person in this world. Besides, they might not ever see each other again. Venice isn’t horribly big, but it’s  _full_  of people.

Chris doubts that, after a few days, Darren would even be able to tell him apart from anyone of the hundreds of faces in the crowd.

He breathes deeply, turning his face into his pillow. It’s just the way life works for him, is all.

He absently scratches at the stupid rash he’s getting (is he suddenly allergic to the elastic in his boxers or something?) and lets the lulling fog of the drugs tug him into sleep.

*

Chris sleeps exactly eight hours, because that’s what his pills do and because he has a store to run. He loves sleep, god, he wants to sleep for days, but he also loves being awake. Being awake means being able to write and eat and, well, live. It’s a really hard balance for him for some reason.

Brian is already gone, probably off investigating the grocery bags Chris left out, and  _ugh_ , he has to put those away now, doesn’t he? He brushes his limp hair from his forehead, grimaces at the awful taste in his mouth, and then rolls out of bed. He shuffles like a zombie towards the bathroom, too tired to shower but also knowing that it will wash the sleep out of his eyes.

Oh god, and then he’s going to drink like  _three_  Diet Cokes because he finally bought more that he can abuse his stock.

Nothing feels different, nothing is off, until Chris is soaping up his body and his fingers run across raised skin where there wasn’t before. His eyes flash open in alarm, and his fingers trace over the thin skin that stretches from his right hipbone inwards toward his belly button. The weird skin starts nearly where his leg meets his groin, and goes about two and half (three?) inches towards the center of his body. What the fuck  _is_  that?

His thumb traces over it, again and again, and it takes way too long for Chris’s head to connect this spot with the one that had been itching so badly the night before.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Maybe it  _is_  shingles.

He not-too-thoroughly washes the conditioner from his hair and tries not to start hyperventilating. He keeps looking down but the angle is all wrong, and he can just see bright, garish red marks, like someone carved into him with a scalpel while he was asleep.

Talk about a fucking nightmare.

The mirror is fogged up when Chris stumbles out of the shower, feet sliding on the wet ceramic of the tub, and he wipes it as quickly as he can. God, why is it so far away? He feels like he needs to crawl up on the counter in order to read—wait.  _Read?_

“Oh god.” It’s not shingles. Oh god, it is definitely not shingles.

Chris rummages in his bathroom drawer, pulling out the smaller hand mirror he has for emergencies like this ( _like this_ , god, he just has a fucking hand mirror because it’s convenient), and settles it just right so that he can see the mark on his hip more clearly.

_ssirC nerraD_

Okay, fuck this, Chris can’t read  _backwards_ , he isn’t Da Vinci.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Because it’s definitely letters, definitely spelling words.

No, not words. A  _name_.

Chris has a name printed onto his body.

Oh god, he needs to stop thinking  _oh god_  and he also needs to not pass out because he’s suddenly feeling kind of light headed. Breathing. Breathing would be a good thing for him to do right now.

There’s a notepad on his nightstand, and he is  _so_  grateful for those ideas he gets in the middle of the night, because that’s the entire reason he keeps that paper there. He sits on his bed—and, fuck, he’s still naked and still wet from his shower—and writes down the letters quickly. First, as he’d read them, and then, writing them the right way.

_Darren Criss_

Darren.

 _Darren_.

“Darren is probably a common name,” Chris reasons with himself, and he sucks in two big lungfuls of air before his breathing becomes staccato again. “Except.”

Except Darren had touched him, not even twelve hours ago. And now his name—because it  _must_  be his name—is etched into Chris’s skin. Forever.

“I have a soulmate,” he says out loud, numbly, and then falls back on his bed—he doesn’t even begin to think of how he’s ruining his comforter.

“I have a soulmate,” he says again, staring at the ceiling. “Darren is my soulmate.”

He should be laughing, really, he should. But he lays, completely still, and tries not to spiral further into a panic attack.

Because Chris had always wanted a soulmate, but he’d never expected to find one. To have his find  _him_. To have his soulmate be someone as wonderful and  _completely_  out of his league as Darren is.

He swallows thickly, and has no idea what he’s supposed to do now.


	5. His Name is Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **03/29/13**.
> 
> Written for [my](http://bookendsbychris.tumblr.com) and [Becca's](http://surfsupdarren.tumblr.com) CrissColfer Soulmate RP.

Chris sits on his couch and stares at his phone, worrying his lip between his teeth. His address book is open to HOME, but he can’t gather enough composure to actually press CALL. He taps back out of it, scrolls all the way to the top, and closes his eyes, lifting the phone to his ear.

It rings three times.

"Well if it isn’t Mr. Chris Colfer," drawls the female voice on the other end of the line. “And to what do I owe this amazing pleasure?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips despite himself, and he settles back against the cushions.

"I hate you," he says, and receives a laugh in return.

"Sure you do. Are you coming to see me this weekend? Leaving behind the rainbow walls of Venice for the glittering club scene of West Hollywood?"

Chris snorts, pulling his legs up onto the couch as he gets more comfortable.

"Yes, because overnight I suddenly decided I’m the clubber sort." Except… Except Chris doesn’t have to be so afraid of touching people anymore, does he? “But no, that’s not why I called. And you know, it wouldn’t kill you to drive out here every once in awhile."

"Well, I do love Muscle Beach," she hums. “So what’s up?"

"I can’t just call my best friend?" Chris tries, putting it off.

"You? Getting you on the phone is harder than calling the Pope. You never call unless there’s a good reason." A pause. “Please tell me that good reason involves you getting laid."

"Ashley!" Chris shouts in the phone, feeling affronted, and she sighs out a  _damn_. “No, it—no, but—"

"But?!"

Chris jerks the phone away from his ear.

"I’m using you as a way to procrastinate calling my parents," Chris admits, feeling a little ashamed of himself.

"Valid," she says, and it makes Chris feel a little better. “Have you been avoiding your mom again? Didn’t she, like, drive down the last time you did that?"

"Ugh,  _yes_ , but… Um, no. Not actively avoiding her, I just… Don’t want to tell her something."

"Oh?" Ashely sounds intrigued, and Chris wishes she was actually there just as much as he doesn’t. He loves her, he really does, but she tends to tease him mercilessly about these things and he prefers she wasn’t around to see his physical reactions to all of this.

"I, um." Chris doesn’t even know how to start telling this story. “So I went to the grocery store last night, I was out of Diet Coke, and I was buying hot dogs and there was this _guy_ —"

"A  _guy?_  Well this just got a hundred times more interesting."

"Why can’t my stories be interesting without guys involved?"

"They are. Sometimes. No offense, baby, but you work in a bookstore and hardly interact with people. Your day-to-day adventures aren’t exactly riveting."

"Thanks, Ash," Chris says, dryly.

"So this guy?" She prompts.

"Um, he heard me singing—I sang out loud, on accident, and he sang back, and then we were talking, and there was this really embarrassing situation involving salad dressing, Ashley, oh my god, I can’t believe—"

"Christopher."

He stops.

"Spit it out."

"We touched," Chris breathes out, and Ashley is silent. “Ash, I… I woke up and there was a name on me."

She screams. Full out screams. There’s nothing tempering her volume, and Chris nearly falls over with how quickly he moves away from the phone—he’s honestly  _astounded_  she doesn’t damage the speaker.

"You’ve been  _Found?_  You’ve been Found and you waited  _this long_  to call me?"

"I just saw it this morning!" Chris responds defensively.

"And you wake up at  _dawn_ , Chris, it’s like 9pm!"

"Oh, well I…"

"Shut up."

"I didn’t—"

"You spent the  _day_  with him?"

"How do you  _do that?_ " He hisses, and she laughs.

"Chris." She talks as if she was speaking to a child. “Honey, I know you. Now. Do you have any pictures?"

“ _Ashley_."

"What? I want to see this guy. Is he hot? He better be hot. You deserve hot."

"He’s…" Chris thinks of Darren and grins, biting down on his lip again. “Yeah, I’d say he’s pretty hot."

"I seriously demand a picture."

"I can’t just  _ask_  him for a picture."

"Um, yeah you can. Or I can ask him. What’s his number?"

"Absolutely not."

"You are  _no_  fun. So come on, I can tell you want to talk about him. You’re talking all high-pitched like you do when you want to talk about things."

"I don’t do that!"

"Yes you do. Now come on, we never get to gossip.  _Spill_."

Chris closes his eyes and grabs the pillow from the side of the couch, pulling it into his lap and hugging it close. She’s right—he  _does_  want to talk about it, and, even if she’ll probably end up mocking him for it, he knows he can trust her.

"Okay, so he’s a surfer—"

“ _Damn_  boy, maybe I  _should_  move to Venice."

Chris laughs.

"So what’s surfer boy’s name?"

Chris presses his mouth into the pillow, closes his eyes, and smiles so big that his cheeks hurt.

"Darren. His name is Darren."


	6. Brunch: an Observation by Nancy the Waitress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **04/11/13**.
> 
> Written for [my](http://bookendsbychris.tumblr.com) and [Becca's](http://surfsupdarren.tumblr.com) CrissColfer Soulmate RP.

"Table eight," Nancy says, folding her arms on the hostess station and grinning. Kat looks up at her, and then furrows her eyebrows.

"Table eight is occupied," Kat responds, slowly. “And is your table. Why are you over here talking to me?"

"Shush!" Nancy whacks her with her notepad, and then gestures towards it. “Look at the guys sitting there." She tries to look as surreptitiously as possible over her shoulder, hardly keeping her grin down.

"You are impossible," Kat monotones, rolling her eyes. “You’re like a buzzard or something."

"A buzzard? Really?" Nancy frowns. “You couldn’t pick something more… Cute?"

"Cute things don’t circle around hot guys because they think they might be available." Kat pauses. “Or soon-to-be-available."

"I just know how to play the game," Nancy insists, sticking up her nose. “And the one with the darker hair is  _hot_ , okay?"

"Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to be doing?"

"Ugh, it is so much better when Dan is working." She pushes away from the hostess stand. “You  _suck_."

"Have fun waiting tables," Kat says back without enthusiasm, and turns back to her game of sudoku while Nancy stalks away.

She heads back to table eight with their drinks, setting them down on the table with a smile.

"Diet Coke," the cute one says, just like he had the first time, and the other one wrinkles his nose.

"You’re not going to drop it, are you?"

"I just can’t believe you don’t drink coffee."

It is pretty fucking weird, Nancy has to agree. She discreetly clears her throat and taps her pen against her notepad.

"You boys ready to order?" She butts in, and smiles coyly at the cute one. Even though he is totally not looking at her at all. Lame.

"Go ahead," Cute Boy says, and Nancy reluctantly turns towards the other one as he rambles his order. He’s strangely pretty, for a guy, and Nancy feels a slight twinge of jealousy. Which is stupid. So she just keeps smiling, jots down his order, and then Cute Boy’s, and then bops away.

She ends up back next to Kat, because the only other person working is Lauren, and… Well, Nancy doesn’t exactly get along with her.

"He ordered like half the menu," she tells Kat as she leans on the hostess station again.

"Good for him." Kat is completely uninterested in Nancy’s love life.

"I wonder what his name is," Nancy continues on a sigh, smiling dreamily. “You think if I write my number on their check, he’ll call me?"

"Tell me, when you got this job, did you plan on using it to hit on guys?"

"You’re really mean," Nancy whines, and sees Kat roll her eyes again behind her glasses. She looks over, past Nancy’s shoulder, and then snorts.

"You’re wasting your time, Nance."

"Why?"

"Because your boy?  _Gay_."

"He is not!" Nancy cries, a little too loudly, and then hunches her shoulders self consciously. “He is  _not_ ," she hisses, violently.

"Really? Because him and his brunch date are holding hands across the table."

Nancy doesn’t even try to be sneaky in looking this time, but— _oh my god_ , they  _are_. She stands up straighter, frowning deeply, and stomps away.

She immediately heads to table eight with refills, but even as she sets them down (a little  _too_  hard), their hands stay clasped on the table top.

"I thought you boys could use some refills," she forces out politely, and the fucking pretty boy smiles at her and thanks her in a tone of surprise. “Your food should be out soon."

Her eyes flick down, and that’s when she sees it—just a tiny peek, but she’s seen marks enough to know that it’s the hints of one. On Cute Boy’s hand.

He’s  _Found_.

She forces another smile, and then hurries away again, wanting to hug Kat even though she’s kind of a bitch.

"See? Gay." Kat doesn’t even look up as Nancy walks back over.

"Worse," Nancy wails quietly. “He’s  _Found_."

Kat looks up at her, face skewed in confusion. She looks like she’s about to say something, but then shakes her head. Well, so much for consoling. Nancy huffs, turning back around and staring at table eight.

They’re still holding hands, and Pretty Boy’s fingers keep dancing along Cute Boy’s palm—touching his mark, she’d guess. Pretty Boy keeps smiling and laughing, ducking his head, and every time he tries to pull his hand back, Cute Boy grabs hold of it. He stares at Pretty Boy like… Well, Nancy has never had anyone look at her that way. Maybe that’s what it’s like to be Found.

When she’s not looking at them through a haze of bitterness, they’re actually kind of cute and endearing. She hates them for it, though… At least a little bit.

She doesn’t look away until Cute Boy lifts Pretty Boy’s hand up and kisses his fingers—at that point, it feels too much like an invasion of privacy.

"Heading back to work?" Kat asks, and Nancy lets herself smile.

"That’s what they pay me for," she shoots back, and then heads back toward the kitchen. After all, she has some brunch to deliver to a pair of soulmates.


	7. Freckle Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **04/18/13**.
> 
> On anon, in [Mandy's](http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com) ask box.

There’s a freckle on the inside of Chris’s hip that Darren is absolutely obsessed with. He knows it absolutely baffles Chris, and Darren wishes he could explain why he finds it so remarkable. It probably has something to do with the fact that Darren’s one of the only people who’s seen it. It ignites that part of him that’s possessive, that wants to know every inch of Chris and be the only person to ever know. There are a lot of hidden parts that Darren could lavish with attention ,but he likes that one particular freckle. Because most people would pick something predictable, like the indents about Chris’s ass, or the curve of his cock, or the way their fingers fit perfectly into the divots between Chris’s ribs (where he is adorably ticklish). Darren chose the freckle because maybe one day Chris won’t be his anymore, but no one will ever love that freckle (or Chris) more than Darren does.

So it’s not strange when Darren slides his arm around the small of Chris’s back, and presses hit thumb to the exact spot he knows that freckle lies. It’s not like he can feel it—it blends effortlessly in with the smooth skin there, but he knows that it’s there, and that’s what matters. That, and that Chris knows the reason that Darren is touching him there, sinking into his side and throwing him a bemused and slightly flustered look.

Because Chris knows the exact spot. He knows it because Darren sucks marks in that spot, or presses tender kisses there, or brushes fingers there as they whisper to each other in the dark, a tangle of naked limbs beneath blankets. He knows it because Darren likes to talk about it more than is probably normal. It’s not even a particularly remarkable freckle, except that it stands alone rather than in a cluster, and that Darren can stare at it easily when he pillows his head on Chris’s stomach.

"Because," Darren says, when Chris asks him about his obsession. “No one else on this entire planet has this exact freckle in this exact place." And he brushes his lips against it and feels a shudder ripple down Chris’s leg. “I love it because it’s a Chris Colfer original, and because out of the thousands of lovers you take in your life—" Chris pushes at his head, and mutters “idiot" under his breath, "—no one will ever pay this freckle any attention. Just me." Darren kisses it again. “Just me."

"You’re…" and Chris’s words die as Darren looks up at him, and sees that softness in his gaze. He pets his fingers through Darren’s hair, and Darren leans into it, smiling as Chris’s fingertips scratch against his scalp. It’s funny, because no one can use words better than Chris, and yet he never seems to have them. Darren loves that he can steal Chris’s words right from his lips.

He brushes his lips against the freckle again, and then laves his tongue over the spot, hand splayed further of Chris’s body that he can feel the way the air catches before he hears the choked off sound. “So sensitive," Darren murmurs, and Chris gives a sharp yet playful yank on his hair. He can feel Chris starting to really harden again against his collarbone, and grins impishly up at him.

"Shut up," Chris mutters, indignantly, but gives a short push on Darren’s head—a suggestion, more than a demand. Darren grins into his skin, dragging his lips away from that special spot. Chris’s breathing hitches, once, twice, and Darren exhales over the base of his cock. “Darren," Chris whines, and Darren sinks his mouth over him.


	8. Undressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **04/24/13**.
> 
> Done for the prompt _undressing_.

Darren is laughing into Chris’s mouth when they finally stumble into the bedroom, holding fast to Chris’s waist to keep him from toppling backwards.

"Careful," he mutters, and Chris bites hard on his lip.

"You’re the one forcefully pushing," Chris retorts, and nearly falls again as Darren shuffles him backwards toward the bed.

"I like to think of it as enthusiastically leading." Darren’s fingers slip to the too-many buttons of Chris’s shirt, starting randomly in the middle before working his way down. The buttons slip out of his fumbling grasp too often, Darren more preoccupied with the way Chris’s mouth has started toying with his ear.

They must hit the side of the bed, because then Chris is falling away, hand snagging on Darren’s shirt and stretching it until there’s a rather unfortunate tearing noise. Darren drops down on top of him, arms caging him against the bedspread, and grins.

"Did you just rip my shirt?" He asks, amused, and Chris looks up at him, eyes dark and with a slightly impatient look on his face.

"Does it matter? It’s still on." Chris tugs at the fabric on purpose this time, and Darren scrambles back on his knees, not missing the opportunity to roll his hips down and relishing in the way Chris tosses his head back. He pulls the shirt off quickly, not even bothering to check for damage—it’s replaceable, and he kind of likes the idea of Chris wanting him so badly that he’s willing to tear Darren’s clothing right off.

Chris has started in on the rest of his buttons, and Darren’s hands meet his, parting the fabric over that fucking undershirt.

"Off, off, off," Darren insists, pulling Chris up to sitting so he can work the first shirt off his shoulders. Once it’s gone, Chris doesn’t waste time in pulling the other one off. Darren starts touching at once, pushing Chris back down into the bed and beginning to lick down his neck.

“ _Darren_." Chris’s hands press hard into his skin, massaging down his spine. Darren curls into the touch, and then presses back down, grunting as their cocks press through their jeans. “H—" Chris throws his head back again, and Darren bites at his skin. “How long do we have?"

"Not long enough," Darren whispers, his voice husky. There are hands on his ass all of a sudden, pushing at him and rolling his hips down into Chris’s. Noise stutters out of him, and he raises his head to slide his tongue into Chris’s willing mouth. “Pants," he gasps, eyelids fluttering as Chris’s hands knead—he whines at the loss when they slip away, but then Chris is working at his jeans and starting to push them down, so Darren really can’t complain.

Chris pauses for a second, just to press his hand against where Darren’s dick is hard and wanting in his boxers, and then the touch disappears, leaving Darren’s hips jerking forward, searching for more.

"Pants," Chris reminds him, and then pushes at Darren until he’s flat on his back, wiggling out of his jeans and boxers (and cursing every time they snag on the way down). Somehow, Chris is faster than him, and is straddling Darren just as his boxers drop to the bedroom floor. Darren groans at all of the sudden naked-on-naked skin, tugging Chris closer and thrusting up against him, already feeling sweat stick along his neck and back.

And Chris laughs, pressing down against him at every possible point, before kissing Darren deeply.


	9. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **04/30/13**.
> 
> Written for the prompt _touch_.

Darren’s hands run down Chris, fingers splayed so that he’s touching as much skin as possible in the same movement. His fingertips catch and drag over Chris’s neck, the hollow of his throat, the sharp cut of his collarbones and then further down. They brush against his nipples—a sharp intake of breath—and then press into the skin as it softens, twisting around to Chris’s sides and digging almost too hard until they reach his hips.

But Darren doesn’t move any lower. Not yet.

He leans in, skimming the tip of his nose down the center of Chris’s body, from sternum to navel, lips carefully angled away. Chris’s body is practically shaking, trying so hard to stay still, trying not to push up into the nearly-almost touch of Darren’s mouth. He exhales out, slow and close to Chris’s stomach, watching as the skin bumps, as Chris goes entirely taut before relaxing again.

"So good for me, baby," Darren murmurs to the faint trail of hair leading down from Chris’s belly button, nuzzling his nose against it. Without warning, he moves his hands again, sliding them lower along Chris’s thighs before he’s pushing them apart, rubbing circles into the soft, sensitive skin there with his thumbs. “So good," he says again, breathing hot and purposeful onto the base of Chris’s cock as his hands work up towards Chris’s groin.

Beneath his touch, Darren can feel the muscles in Chris’s thighs contract, keeping him from bucking up towards Darren. He grins, nosing at Chris’s cock and humming pleasurably.

"Touch me," he finally demands, and Chris’s hands are there immediately—frantic at his shoulders, nails biting into skin, before they’re winding so sinfully good and hard in Darren’s hair and pulling him in closer until hot skin is pressed insistently to his lips. Darren’s fingers grip harder at Chris’s thighs, pulling them up over his shoulders as he starts to mouth at whatever section of Chris’s cock he’s directed towards, eager and willing to do whatever he’s told.


	10. Boners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **05/08/13**.
> 
> Written for the prompt _boners_.

Darren is still learning the ropes of this. Like, he’s made out with guys before, sure, but all of this stuff with Chris is… Well, more than just making out. Fuck, Darren  _wants_  it to be more than just making out.

Having Chris on top of him is different than having a girl on top of him. Chris is more solid, has more of a presence, and for once, Darren feels absolutely pinned down. He’s had aggressive girlfriends in the past, but he’s never had someone who could actually hold him in place. It isn’t an illusion. Chris isn’t putting any effort into keeping Darren where he is, but he could. The idea of it makes Darren push into the teeth, hungrier and harder, trying to coax Chris’s mouth open with licks of his tongue.

Chris’s leg is pressed between Darren’s, their chests  _just_  not touching, even though the fabric of Chris’s shirt hangs down and skims against Darren’s. Darren wishes it was off. He wishes there was skin. He wants to know what it is about Chris that makes him feel so hungry, that makes he want and need  _so badly_.

He wishes they were on a bed rather than a couch. He wants to try to flip Chris over, to see if Chris would go or if Chris would hold him down. Fuck, he wants Chris to hold him down.

Darren whines against his mouth, only to have Chris break away. Wait, no, that is  _not_  what he wanted—but  _oh_ , Chris’s mouth starts to suckle just beneath his jaw, tongue laving and teeth nipping. He expects Chris to move further down his neck, but he doesn’t—he goes for Darren’s ear, pulling it between his lips and sucking. Darren groans, low and throaty, and presses his hips up.

He can tell he’s getting hard, can feel the telltale pressure in his cock. His hands press down on Chris’s lower back, trying to bring his hips closer, so he can buck and rub against him, using the friction to get completely hard. He’s unashamed in it, moaning and gasping as Chris continues to mouth at his ear.

Then he stops, like he suddenly registers Darren’s erection getting pushed up against him. Darren is breathing heavily, ready to  _beg_  Chris to continue, but already preparing for what he assumes is the  _we need to slow down_  talk. Except then Chris’s breath is hot and heavy against his ear, his tongue starting to trace the shell and making Darren’s entire body shiver.

But what he leasts expects is Chris rolling his hips down, his own hard cock rubbing up against Darren’s until they’re both panting.


	11. Animal Cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **05/10/13**.
> 
> Darren's contact name a reference to [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/790099).

**To Darebear Stare:**  
guess where I am  
[Picture Message]

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
Is that a selfie with a llama  
That is a selfie with a llama  
You took a selfie with a llama

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
yes  
yes I did

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
You went to a zoo without me  
:(  
I fucking love the zoo

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
I know  
do you want a souvenir?

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
Only if it’s one of those cups  
OR  
OR  
No I want a cup  
One of the ones shaped like an animal

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
I don’t know if they have those here

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
All zoos have them  
Don’t lie to me

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
wtf  
I’m not lying!

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
You went to the zoo w/o me  
How can I trust you now????  
?????????

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
sorry next time hannah asks to go to the zoo I’ll tell her no  
because we can’t go without you

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
You didn’t mention Hannah before  
That totally changes things

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
how?

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
You need to get her an animal cup too  
Say it’s from me

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
I’m the one paying for it?  
how is it from you?

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
My idea  
Credit stealer  
You are a credit stealer Colfer  
Justice will be served

 **To Darebear Stare:**  
we’re going to look at the primates now

 **From Darebear Stare:**  
Send pictures!!!!  
Monkeys  
Omg make my cup a monkey


	12. I Love Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **05/24/13**.

"…fuck."

Chris glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised and tongue pressed against vanilla ice cream, to see Darren frowning down at the ground.

"What happened?" He licks his ice cream again.

“ _Chris_ ," Darren whines, and holds up his ice cream cone… That is severely lacking ice cream. Chris looks down at the pavement, and can see the already melting blob of chocolate right by Darren’s shoe.

"How in the  _world_  did you manage that?" Chris huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, and Darren pouts at him.

"I don’t know," he whines again, stepping closer and still holding his empty cone. “You should share with me." He bats his eyelashes and ups the pout several decibles.

"I thought vanilla was boring?" Chris arches an eyebrow, and then pointedly licks his ice cream. “Just go get a new one."

"Or you could share with me," Darren suggests, again, eyes lighting up as if that idea appeals to him much more than having his own dessert. Chris wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case at all. “And I just don’t understand why you’d get vanilla when there are like twenty other flavors to choose from. It just doesn’t make sense."

"You aren’t helping your case."

"I’m wrong and vanilla is awesome and absolutely the best?" Darren tries instead, and Chris rolls his eyes.

"You’re impossible," he mutters, but holds out his ice cream, letting out a long, suffering, over-dramatic sigh. Darren leans in, holding Chris’s gaze and dragging his tongue slowly over the ice cream. It makes something hot and insistent tug at the base of Chris’s spine.

"Mmm," Darren drags out, licking his lips, and Chris snaps the ice cream closer, turning around and starting to stalk away. Darren’s laugh follows after him. “Wait! I’m not done sharing yet!"

"Too fucking bad!" Chris shouts back, lifting the cone to his mouth and  _dammit_. Because he should have known Darren would turn sharing an ice cream cone into something completely not-PG. There’s a collision with his back, and Chris stumbles forward, body locking up before he recognizes Darren’s arms curling around him and his chin hooking over Chris’s shoulder.

“ _Please_." Darren noses at his neck, and Chris closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. But he lifts up the cone, the ice cream starting to melt from the heat, and holding it close to Darren. “Mmm, you’re the best."

Chris rolls his eyes, already succumbing to the thought that Darren is probably just going to eat all of his ice cream.

"Hey, hey, we’re supposed to be sharing," Darren insists, and Chris sends an unamused glare in Darren’s direction that Darren can’t possibly see. But then Darren’s fingers are twisting his head around, and the next thing Chris knows, their mouths are sealed together. Darren’s lips are cold and sticky, and his tongue pushes into Chris’s mouth, and the entire thing tastes like vanilla. Chris whines a little bit when Darren pulls back, and is thus greeted with a smug grin.

"I love sharing," Darren purrs, and Chris tries to push him off, but Darren clings tightly.

"You’re disgusting," he bites out, although there’s no heat behind it.

"You liked it, I know you did." Darren trails sticky kisses up Chris’s neck, the temperature contrast making him resist a shudder. Chris takes two, steadying breaths, and then tries to start walking again, even with Darren still draped over his back. “I’ll take your silence as assent to more sharing."

"Shut up."

"That’s still not a no."

“ _Shut up_."


	13. Upside Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **06/04/13**.

"Living room!" Chris calls when he hears the front door open, not bothering to get up or close his lap top, or even look up,  _really_. After all, it’s just Darren.

"Honey, I’m home!" is what Darren says in response, and Chris’s mouth quirks at the corner. Never mind that Darren doesn’t live there, and it isn’t his home–Chris had stopped correcting him awhile ago now.

It’s unusually quiet after that; Darren is never shy about wanting Chris’s attention, especially when it’s divided between him and something like  _work_  or  _tv_  or  _food_. There’s a part of Chris that niggles at that thought, that’s waiting for Darren to crawl into his lap like an affection starved pet.

What he does get instead is the sudden press of Darren’s chest to the top of his head. Chris has just tipped his head back, confused as to exactly  _what_  Darren is doing, when Darren’s face appears in his vision, an eager grin on his lips. Then his lips are on Chris’s, and  _oh_.

"Hello," Darren murmurs, voice low and intimate when he pulls away, his face still upside-down and making Chris feel a little cross-eyed.

"You just kissed me upside-down," Chris points out, voice a little high with something like disbelief.

"Yeah. I had an urge. Bad?" Darren tips and tilts to the side, resting on the couch back beside Chris rather than hovering right over him. Chris turns to look at him, a smile playing at his lips.

"Not bad.  _Weird_ , but not bad.”

Darren frowns a little bit, his lower lip sticking out.

"Sideways kiss?" He suggests.

Chris snorts, but leans in and presses their lips together, chastely.

"Dork." Chris kisses him again, and feels Darren grin into it.

"Always."


	14. Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **06/21/13**.
> 
>  **okamitaretsu prompted:** CrissColfer. Darren’s a flame deity while Chris is a water deity. Everytime they get close to each other, things get steamy.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Chris asks dryly, crossing his arms and holding himself still so that he won’t step backwards. If it helps him look a little more imposing, well, there’s nothing wrong with that.

"Maybe." Darren grins in that impish way he does, fingers flared in front of him and sporting tiny flames as if they were wicks in a candle rather than parts of his body. Not that Chris can’t do the same thing, water jumping from finger to finger like a decorative fountain. They’re tricks, harmless and just for show. “I think intrigue is a better word, though."

Darren steps closer, and there isn’t fire anymore–at least, not any fire that Chris can see. But Darren is fire just as much as Chris is water. It’s who and what he is, and just because Chris can’t see the flame does not mean it isn’t there.

"Oh?" Chris doesn’t step back even as Darren moves closer. It’s getting hotter, like the water beneath Chris’s skin is starting to boil. Because water can put out fire, there’s no doubt about that. But fire, if it’s hot enough, can turn water into steam.

Chris gasps even before Darren’s fingers curl around his wrist, tugging it away from the coiled protection of his body. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, maybe for a hissing, foggy puff of air to explode with the contact. But instead there’s just heat, and the end of a chase that has gone on for too long.


	15. Friendship Gushers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **06/21/13**.
> 
>  **Anonymous prompted:** crisscolfer in school, please

"What are you doing here?"

If Darren startled easily, he probably would have jumped. Instead, he finishes shoving a handful of Cheetos into his mouth and looks up. Chris is standing with his back nearly pressed to the door, and it makes Darren want to sigh.  _Still so defensive?_

"Eating," Darren manages around a full mouth. For a second, he’s afraid it might have offended Chris, but he looks closer to laughing than to snorting in disgust. Small graces.

"I eat lunch here." Chris’s eyes flick around the empty classroom before they land back on Darren. “I’ve always eaten lunch here."

"Is the sight of me really that bad that you lost your appetite?" Darren nearly presses his hand to his heart, before he remembers that it’s covered with bright orange cheese and that’s probably a bad idea.

"I–no, that’s not–"

Darren kicks one of the chairs out with his foot, and raises his eyebrow. When Chris doesn’t move, he leans over to pat it, the  _thump_  against the plastic loud in the quiet room.

"I promise not to eat your lunch. In fact, I’m pretty sure I have Gushers?" Darren starts to dig through his sack lunch. “We could totally share."

"You want to share your Gushers with me?" Chris’s voice wobbles, and Darren knows he almost got a laugh that time. He throws a grin at Chris, before holding up the bag of fruit snacks happily.

"And I don’t just share my Gushers with anyone."

"You are…" Chris stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, but then shakes his head. As much as Darren would love to hear the end of that sentence, this is enough for now, because Chris is walking into the room.

Darren will have to remember to thank his mom for her awesome lunch packing skills. Who knew Gushers could still secure friendships in high school?


	16. Caterpillar Heart Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written **06/27/13**.

**Darren:**  
     Do people have caterpillars as pets?

 **Chris:**  
     um  
     not usually  
     I don’t think  
     do you want me to look it up?

 **Darren:**  
     No  
     Thanks though

 **Chris:**  
     …alright  
     of course

 **Darren:**  
     Can I have a caterpillar as a pet?

 **Chris:**  
     are you asking permission?  
     also  
     why?

 **Darren:**  
     Chris. I’m sorry  
     But I’ve fallen in love with a caterpillar

 **Chris:**  
     oh my god

 **Darren:**  
     I think I’ll keep him

 **Chris:  
**      the caterpillar?

 **Darren:**  
     No you  
     Yes the caterpillar

 **Chris:**  
     oh well good  
     for a second I thought we were going to have the conversation again  
     about humans as personal property  
     and how that’s illegal

 **Darren:**  
     I think you just like to debunk my romantics  
     But I think I’ll keep you too  
     ;)

 **Chris:**  
     what are you going to do when the caterpillar turns into a butterfly  
     and flies away forever?

 **Darren:**  
     :(

 **Chris:**  
     and you’ll just carry it on the tour bus?  
     what will you feed it?

 **Darren:  
**      Why do you have to ruin everything?

 **Chris:**  
     OH I’M SORRY

 **Darren:**  
     YOU SHOULD BE

 **Chris:**  
     I’m just trying to save you from caterpillar heart break  
     But fine

 **Darren:**  
     Caterpillar heart break?

 **Chris:**  
     shut up

*

 **Darren:**  
     I set him free

 **Chris:**  
     who?

 **Darren:**  
     The caterpillar  
     I took him outside and set him free  
     In a park  
     A park full of delicious looking leaves  
     He’ll be happy

 **Chris:**  
     how can you tell it was a boy caterpillar

 **Darren:**  
     Fuck you

 **Chris:**  
     did you name the sexually ambiguous caterpillar?

 **Darren:**  
     No  
     I didn’t want to get too attached

 **Chris:**  
     oh I see

 **Darren:**  
     You’re making fun of me aren’t you

 **Chris:**  
     of course not

 **Darren:**  
     I hate you

 **Chris:**  
     really?  
     I’m not there yet but I could turn around  
     if you don’t want me there

 **Darren:**  
     Shut up  
     And be here  
     I have a hug with your name on it  
     And maybe a few kisses  
     If you’re lucky

 **Chris:**  
     if YOURE lucky

 **Darren:**  
     Finally getting you to one of my shows?  
     I’d say I am pretty lucky  
     ;)

 **Chris:**  
     youre the worst  
     which of these doors is yours?

 **Darren:**  
     Suejdajskalsjska


	17. So I'm Not Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thing I wrote for Becca's birthday. <3
> 
> One day I will actually do this song justice, I promise.

Darren starts his sentence with, "When we break up," so it really shouldn't be so surprising when Chris responds with a resounding, " _No_ ," without even looking at him.

"You didn't even let me finish," Darren pouts.

"You just said, _when we break up_ , I don't think there is anything good that could come at the end of that sentence." Chris sets his tablet down and stands up, walking toward the kitchen while Darren watches, contemplative.

"It wasn't bad," he finally says, still frowning.

"Do you want something?" Chris calls, from where he's leaning into the fridge.

"Yes, I—" But Chris is already pulling out a beer and waving it at him, and Darren grins. "You know me so well," Darren purrs, as Chris walks back over and hands it to him before popping the tab on his soda.

"I would hope so." Chris gives him a look, and settles down on the couch, closer to Darren than he had been before. Darren is _perfectly_ okay with that. He leans into Chris's side happily. "So how was that not going to be bad?"

"It was not going to be bad because I was going to finish it with how I wasn't going to let it happen." Darren looks up at Chris from where his cheek is pressed to Chris's shoulder. He watches Chris raise an eyebrow.

"So you're operating under the assumption that I'll be doing the breaking up?"

Well, shit.

"I—no, I just. Fuck." Darren lets his head thunk against the back of the couch. "This sounded a lot more romantic in my head."

"Most of your ideas do," Chris teases him, fondly. "Only you could somehow make something that would be utterly heart breaking and horrible into something romantic."

"I don't think I'm the only person," Darren muses, and then his face softens. "Breaking up with me would be utterly heart breaking and horrible?"

"You're fishing. You are the worst kind of fisher right now, and you need to get off me." Chris shoves at his head, and Darren laughs, wrapping his arms around Chris and pressing his forehead in the dip of Chris's waist.

"I'd win you back," Darren says, even as Chris struggles against him. "Fuck giving you space, I would send you flowers and write you songs. I'd stand outside your house and serenade you at two in the morning."

"You are so ridiculous, did you know that?" Chris asks, giving up trying to get away and looking at Darren like he's the most insufferable person on the planet. "Are you telling me that _if_ we break up, I'll have to leave the country to get away from you?"

"Nope. I will totally leave the country to go after you." Darren's eyes light up. "Or I'll do the exact opposite."

"What is the exact opposite of stalking?"

"It's not stalking, Colfer, it's love." Darren grins at him. "No, it'll be like that Script song. I will just not move until you take me back."

"…you're insane," Chris says after a few moments of just staring at Darren. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Besides, it won't work."

"Will to," Darren counters, and blinks up at him. "Why won't it work?"

"Because we didn't meet on a street corner."

"You are so literal. Did you know that? You are possibly one of the most literal people I have ever met."

"That is literally a compliment."

"I'm literally going to tickle you."

"Wait, what?—Darren!" Chris swats at him as Darren starts to wiggle his fingers over Chris's ribs, pinning him down to the couch and being careful to avoid his flailing legs.

"Going back to the corner where I first saw you! Going to camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not gonna move!" Darren yells more than sings, but there's still some singing in it. Kind of.

"STOP IT!" Chris shrieks through his laughter, and Darren laughs back.

"Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand! Saying, if you see this boy, can you tell him where I am?" The song dissolves into laughter as Chris starts tickling him back, and so Darren does what he always does when he starts losing the upper hand—he clamps down on Chris and rolls them off the couch and onto the floor.

They end up sprawled on their backs and breathing hard, and Darren is grinning so big his cheeks hurt.

"'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me, and your heart starts to wonder where on— _ooph_ ," Darren grunts, as Chris's arm lands heavy and with purpose on Darren's chest.

"Seriously, don't be so dramatic. Just pick up a fucking phone and call me." Chris flops his head around on the carpet so he's looking at Darren. "If I don't answer, then you can go have a sit-in wherever you want."

"I think I should do the sit-in right off the bat. You'll get so embarrassed you'll have to come and make me move." Darren grins at him.

"You have the worst ideas."

"Pretty sure our first actual kiss was my idea."

"Okay, _one_ good idea. That doesn't negate—"

"And don't even get me started on sex. Fuck, I'm pretty sure most of the blow jobs—"

"Please stop talking."


	18. Kiss It Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://jinglebellemichelle.tumblr.com/post/68850147614), because Darren would totally say that.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Chris thinks it says a lot about his relationship with Darren that he hardly bats an eyelash at the exclamation. If he wasn’t so used to them, he’d probably be covered in scalding hot water right about now.

He waits a few moments, giving the pasta another stir, before he calls, “You okay?” over his shoulder.

Except Darren doesn’t answer, and  _okay_ , that’s a little disconcerting. If he was really hurt, if something was really wrong, he’d let Chris know, right? Besides, there weren’t any loud thumping noises or sounds of shattering or shots fired. Darren is  _fine_.

His conviction lasts for another minute and a few stirs of pasta.

But when he turns around to find Darren (swearing that he better be injured in some capacity for not answering Chris and therefore  _being a dick_ ), Darren is standing right there. Chris can’t help the way his eyes flick over his body, looking for damages, but when he finds none, he feels more aggravated than relieved (but still a little relieved).

"You are such a—"

"I hurt myself," Darren pouts, and he drags himself through the kitchen and toward Chris. He reminds Chris very much of a kindergartener—any second now, and Darren is going to present the boo-boo on his finger to Chris.

Still, he softens a little bit. It’s hard not to, and Chris has learned it’s better not to fight it.

"How?" Chris asks because he can’t help himself.

"I bit my lip." Darren’s shoulders slump, and his pout becomes more pronounced.

"Seriously?"

"It hurts!" Darren insists, and Chris rolls his eyes as he sighs and turns back to making dinner. And, much to Chris’s expectations, Darren drags across the kitchen to sulk next to him. Chris can practically feel Darren’s point aimed at him.

"Yes?" He hums as he stirs the pasta.

"Aren’t you going to kiss it better?"

Chris stills, and then slowly turns his head to look at Darren, eyebrow quirked and his expression somewhere between extremely judgmental and stupidly fond.

"You want me to kiss your mouth better?" Darren doesn’t need lines with Chris, but apparently that doesn’t stop him from using them.

"Uh, yes," Darren replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"I’m starting to think you bit your lip on purpose," Chris accuses, pointing the spoon he’s been stirring pasta with at Darren. He raises his arms.

"Never," he says, but he’s grinning and so Chris isn’t sure whether to believe him or not. But then he’s puckering his lips up expectantly, and Chris exhales a laugh before he leans closer and pecks Darren on the lips.

"No, you missed it," Darren tells him, and Chris gives Darren his best  _are you kidding?_ face. So the second time, Chris kisses him a little longer. “No,” Darren breathes before Chris can move that far away, and then they’re kissing again, only this time, Chris isn’t sure who moved in first.

"More on the inside," Darren manages between kisses, and Chris laughs into his mouth but follows the direction.

"You keep this up, and I’ll bite your lip," Chris murmurs, and drags his teeth over Darren’s bottom lip for emphasis. Chris isn’t exactly sure how one peck on the lips turned into them making out against the counter, but he’s learned not to question these things. Not anymore. He’s ruined more pasta than he’d like to admit, getting distracted by Darren’s ambushes.

"Mmm, is that so?" They’re not kissing in that moment, Darren’s breath hot against Chris’s mouth and his fingers starting up under the fabric up Chris’s shirt. "You’ll just have to kiss it better again."

"Then I guess I should start biting."


	19. Our Love Will Endor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **anonymous prompted:** crisscolfer- it’s crisscolfer’s first valentine’s as a couple and chris usually doesn’t like v-days but darren surprises him with something great and he can’t help but love it

"So," Darren says, popping his lips and he falls into his chair beside Chris. "Valentine’s Day is soon."

Chris gives a cursory glance up out of politeness, and then turns back to his laptop and hums disinterestedly. Darren frowns.

"That’s the sort of reaction I expect from someone I’m not dating," Darren says, matter-of-factly, and then snaps. "Oh wait! We are dating. So what’s with the cold shoulder, Snow Meiser?"

Chris snorts and this time really looks at Darren.

"Snow Meiser? Really?"

"Avoidance tactic number eight." Darren gives him a stern look. "I see right through you, Colfer."

With a sigh, Chris taps a few keys on his keyboard and then closes his laptop, looking at Darren in a tired sort of way. Darren doesn’t really like it when Chris looks at him like that—like Darren is the one that’s draining all of his energy.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Um, that you are  _super pumped_  about spending Valentine’s Day with your fucking awesome and sexy boyfriend for the very first time ever.” Obviously. Chris doesn’t look amused. In fact, he looks away from Darren and stays silent, and that’s kind of when it clicks. Something is wrong. Not just kind of wrong, but  _actually_  wrong, and now he kind of feels like an asshole.

"Hey…" Darren touches Chris’s arm gently, and he looks back over. "What’s up?" Darren scoots his chair as close as he can in a hop-wiggle-screech motion that is both comical and probably putting him in danger of tipping over.

Chris shrugs, his neon sign for,  _I don’t want to talk about it_. “I just don’t really like Valentine’s Day, that’s all.”

Darren’s eyebrows furrow, and he waits. If Chris has more to say, he’ll say it. If not, well, pushing him at this point is probably just going to piss him the fuck off.

"Probably because I’ve never really  _had_  a Valentine before.”

 _Woah_. No pressure. Darren is his first Valentine?  _Ever?_  Suddenly a romantic dinner doesn’t seem like it’ll be enough.

"Except for… Well." Chris pauses, but Darren is already hooked on what the end of that sentence could possibly contain.

"What?" He prompts, voice quiet. Chris looks unsure for a moment, but he must see something on Darren’s face that makes him plow ahead.

"Do you remember how in elementary school, you make those stupid little bags and decorate them and everyone has to bring everyone Valentine’s?" Chris asks, sounding hesitant.

"Uh, duh. It was like the third best holiday after Christmas and Halloween for that very reason."

Chris cracks a smile.

"Well,  _that’s_  the only real time I ever had a quote-unquote Valentine. And those were forced, but… Back then, it meant a lot to me, getting those stupid little cards.” Chris doesn’t often speak about his past with any amount of fondness, especially where school is involved. To see this little glimpse of it… Well, Darren knows he’s seeing something special.

"Anyway, just don’t worry about Valentine’s Day, okay? And I don’t mean that in a trick way, I mean it in an I honestly don’t expect anything way." Chris gives Darren a significant look, and Darren just nods. After all, he’s not going to worry about it—he already knows exactly what he’s going to do.

*

It all starts with the clichés.

Plenty of roses are delivered to set that morning, but Chris looks positively dumbfounded when a bouquet is handed off to him. He stares at it like he’s never seen a rose before, and then looks at Darren with a look that’s a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and what Darren is going to assume is love.

When Chris comes up and kisses him on the cheek later, lingering and whispering a heartfelt, “ _Thank you_ ,” into Darren’s skin, Darren realizes his assumption was correct.

Darren leaves Hershey’s kisses on every surface Chris is supposed to sit on that day. A lot of the cast take them anyway, but the sentiment is still there.

At lunch, there’s a giant teddy bear and balloons.

"What am I supposed to  _do_  with this?” Chris asks with startled laughter, even as he hugs the teddy bear close.

"Love it, of course," Darren teases, and leans close to kiss him over the teddy bear’s shoulder. "Just not more than me, okay?"

"Idiot," Chris murmurs against his lips.

*

And then, the  _pièce de résistance_  comes after they all leave for the day, and Chris and Darren (apparently) go their separate ways.

It’s not hard to get into Chris’s house, not when Darren has known where he’s kept the spare key far longer than they’ve been trading bodily fluids. So it’s no trouble to get in and set up his master plan.

He starts with Hershey’s kisses. He makes a trail of them from the front door and up the stairs to the bedroom, grinning with each one he sets down. There are more roses, and he sets them up around the room. There are candles too, unlit, but those are for later in the evening (there’s still a romantic dinner to be had, and then, of course, _dessert_ ).

But the final piece to the puzzle, the thing Chris sees when he gets home and follows the trail, is dozens upon dozens of grocery store Valentine’s strewn across the bed.

"Oh my god," Chris mutters, staring at where Darren is lounged on the bed besides all the candy. He takes a few steps forward, glances around the room, and then looks back at Darren. He’s silent, mouth hanging open, as he makes his way further and further into the room. When he does stop, he picks up one of the Valentine’s and looks close to tears as he reads it.

“ _Yoda one for me_ ,” he says, and then flips over a card with a picture of Yoda on it, and starts laughing. “Oh my  _god_.” He covers his mouth with his hand and then looks at Darren, and it fills Darren’s heart to see how happy Chris suddenly looks. “I can’t believe you did this.”

"What can I say, Chris…" Darren fumbles for another card and picks one up to read it, " _You hold the woo-key to my heart_.”

Chris dives on the bed that time, and there’s the horrible sound of snapping candy and chocolate is  _definitely_  getting smushed, but Darren could give two fucks when he has an armful of happy boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

"Whoever wrote these should be shot, or rewarded with a medal, I can’t decide which," Chris mumbles into his neck, and Darren smiles.

"So… Not dumb?" Darren asks, and Chris lifts his head to look at him.

“ _You’re_  dumb.” Chris presses his hand to Darren’s face and then leans forward to kiss him. “And I love you. And this. Just…”

"Just happy Valentine’s Day, Chris," Darren says softly, and Chris presses their foreheads together.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Darren," he replies, and then leans forward to kiss Darren again.

"Hey, Chris, wait, wait," Darren murmurs against his lips, and Chris pulls back enough to blink his eyes open, looking at Darren curiously. "R4 is red, R2 is blue, if I was the force, then I’d be with you."

And then they’re laughing again.


	20. The Way I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **kurthummel prompted:** crisscolfer + darren serenading chris! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The day is almost over, and Chris couldn’t be more happy. It hasn’t been a particularly long day, but anything can feel like it lasts forever when you’re looking forward to what comes  _after_  it.

He stretches his arms above his head and groans. “We get to leave soon.” There isn’t a clock anywhere nearby, but if there was, he would be staring at it. He feels like he’s in school again, waiting for the bell to ring to signify summer vacation.

"Someone’s excited," Lea teases beside him, knocking their shoulders together. "Have something special planned for this evening?"

Chris has no intention of divulging his plans, but the smile that takes over his face without his permission apparently has other ideas.

” _Oh_ , someone’s getting  _lucky_  tonight,” Lea says, loudly enough that Chris looks around, afraid that some of the crew might have heard. It’s not like he’s ashamed or anything, but his sex life still isn’t something he wants to parade in front of the people he works with.

"I think a lot of people are. It’s Valentine’s Day," Chris points out, trying to shift the conversation in a safer direction, and Lea scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"Do you know if Darren is doing anything?" She asks, blatantly ignoring his comment, and Chris’s eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. Chris knows what  _he_  has planned, of course, but he hadn’t really thought about Darren.

"Actually, now that you mention it, I—"

"Okay, everyone break’s over!" The director calls, and Chris let’s his sentence drop. It’s not like it was important, although now he’s definitely thinking about it. Darren _loves_  Valentine’s Day, and yet nearly half a day has passed without even a candy heart to speak of. True, they’ve been shooting on different sets all day, at different times, but… Still. How has Darren not done something yet?

"Resetting for the scene. Chris, Lea, places."

And just as Chris stands up, he hears music. He blinks in confusion, because as far as his script says, there isn’t any singing in this scene. He looks at Lea, like maybe she knows what’s going on, but she’s just looking straight past him and smiling.

Was a page left  _out_  of his copy of the script or something?

It takes longer than he’d rather admit for Chris to realize that the music is a guitar, and even longer still to realize that it’s not recorded. But it’s not until there’s singing that he starts to clue in on what’s going on.

“[ _If you were falling, then I would catch you_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJOzdLwvTHA).”

That’s when Chris finally turns around, and sees Darren walking at the front of a procession that appears to be the rest of the cast as he enters the soundstage.

“ _You need a light, I’d find a match_.” Darren is grinning even as he sings, walking closer and closer to Chris who can’t seem to remember how to move his limbs. 

Lea is suddenly beside him, squeezing his arm and whispering, “I guess he  _is_  doing something,” as if Chris had somehow still not caught on.

“ _'Cause I love the way you say good morning_ ,” Darren sings, and there’s clapping from… Someone, somewhere, in the crowd behind him. Chord maybe? Kevin? Chris doesn’t bother looking away from Darren to see. “ _And you take me the way I am_.” Darren raises his eyebrows and shrugs, like he’s unsure of what he’s singing about, and for some reason, it makes Chris smile.

“ _If you are chilly…_ " Darren is closer now, tilting his head to the side as he sings, " _Here, take my sweater_.” And then he’s standing so close that Chris could easily extend a finger, pluck a guitar string, and fuck up the entire song. “ _Your head is aching…_ " Darren fakes to the side, does a little spin, and then Chris feels a fleeting kiss against the apple of his cheek. " _I’ll make it better_.”

Chris laughs, turning to look at Darren as he continues to walk, and,  _god help him_ , following after him slowly.

“ _'Cause I love the way you call me baby_.” Darren dips his head, and for a second it’s like this moment is just between them, just an intimate tidbit that no one else is hearing, except for the fact that basically  _everyone_  they know is there. “ _And you take me the way I am_.”

"I don’t know why," Chris comments, and Darren sticks his tongue out, swaying back and forth as he moves back in towards Chris. They are just weaving and circling through the New York Loft set, and they’re supposed to be  _working_ , but for some reason, no one appears to be stopping them.

“ _I’d buy you Rogain when you start losing all your hair_.” Darren frowns in that over-the-top way of his, and Chris bats at him with his hand. “ _Sew on patches to all you tear_.”

"That’d be a sight to behold," Chris snarks, even though… Maybe Darren doesn’t do that in the literal, hands-on way, but he has mended certain parts of Chris. Suddenly, something that had been so silly and sweet and spontaneous is hitting Chris a lot deeper than it had been.

“ _'Cause I love you more than I could ever promise_.” Darren’s voice dips lower, sounds more sincere, and Chris is starting to wonder if everyone has just left them there because it  _feels_  like they have. “ _And you take me the way I am_.”

"I do," Chris whispers, and Darren strums his guitar one last time before Chris is grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him.

Of course, the illusion of being alone had been just that—an illusion, one which is broken the second people start clapping and the director is yelling, “Yes, that was very sweet and romantic, but we do have work to do!”

Chris laughs against Darren’s mouth, but holds on for a little while longer, stretching the moment as much as he can.

*

Sometimes, when the days are long, when their time together is short, when the reality of their careers interferes with the reality of their lives, when the strain feels like  _too_  much, they’ll hold each other in the dark and Darren will sing into his temple, “ _'Cause I love you more than I could ever promise_.”

And Chris can’t help but smile and clutch a little tighter, ear pressed to Darren’s heart as he answers with, “ _And you take me the way I am_.”


	21. One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Anonymous asked:** chris and darren babysitting uwu and thinking about having their own babies and who's gonna be the first biological dad and fluff (:

"You know, when she’s not running around, or screaming, or pulling Brian’s tail, or crying… She’s actually kind of adorable," Chris whispers, glancing down at the head pillowed in his lap. Darren’s suggestion of a Disney sing-along had been enough to get Gracie to sit on the couch, and she’d been fast asleep before  _Under the Sea_. Chris settles his hand on her back, and she shifts a little bit, but doesn’t wake up (thankfully).

"She’s adorable all of the time," Darren counters, perching his chin on Chris’s shoulder and gazing down at her. "And you know it. You just like to act like a grumpy old man."

"There’s glitter glue in my hair, Darren." Chris gives him an unamused look. "There’s glitter glue in  _your_  hair.”

"I was in the market for a new hair product anyway." He draws back enough to give a flip of his curls. "I think it captures my personality."

"I think it makes you look super gay."

Darren mock gasps, and Gracie makes a noise again, causing both of them to freeze. She turns around, pressing her nose to Chris’s stomach and sticking her thumb in her mouth. Chris is pretty sure she’s not supposed to do that, but… He doesn’t have the heart to stop her.

"You’re going to make a good dad one day," Chris muses as he smiles down at Gracie. He doesn’t except Darren’s hand to suddenly be on his chin, startling slightly as Darren maneuvers his head until they’re eye-to-eye.

“ _We’ll_  be good dads one day,” Darren tells him, and he looks so serious that Chris’s mouth parts without any words coming out. “I hope she looks like you.”

"She?" Chris asks, feeling amused, and then blanches. "Wait, you want me to—"

"Maybe." Darren shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that he uses to put off a conversation until later. "If you want. Can you imagine a little you running around?" And Darren smiles, like it’s the best thing he could possibly imagine.

Chris’s eyes drop, and he’s not sure what to say to that. It’s not something he’s thought about extensively, and he hadn’t known that Darren  _had_. But it’s not something they’re even close to ready for, and definitely not something they should be talking about with a four-year-old around.

"I don’t know…" Chris murmurs, and glances up to meet Darren’s eyes again, a small smile on his face. "I kind of like the picture of a little girl with your curls."


	22. To Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re crying,” he points out, as if Darren isn’t aware, and Darren’s following sniffle is just downright opportune. “At _Disneyland_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **anonymous prompted:** minific idea - 9. + Crisscolfer
> 
> from [this prompt meme on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/127726673115/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a): "9. things you said when i was crying"
> 
> 486 words.

The sniffling is what draws Chris’s attention away from his lunch, and he glances up just in time to see Darren surreptitiously wiping at under his eye.

“Are… Are you  _crying?_ ” Chris asks, incredulously, and Darren looks away, sniffling again.

“ _No_ ,” he replies, emphatically, and 100-percent lying. Chris’s mouth gapes, and he looks down at his salad, and then at Darren, and then around at the hundreds of people surrounding them, completely at a loss.

“I—” Not knowing what else to do, he reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around Darren’s wrist. “Is something wrong?”

“ _No_ ,” Darren says again, trying hard to sound indignant but failing when his voice wobbles slightly. Chris’s grip tightens, and his touch must be bringing Darren some amount of comfort, because he shifts his hand around until his fingers are laced with Chris’s.

“Darren,” Chris replies, voice dry and disbelieving. “You’re crying,” he points out, as if Darren isn’t aware, and Darren’s following sniffle is just downright opportune. “At  _Disneyland_.”

And at that, Darren laughs a little bit, but it’s the only kind of laughter that can come when someone’s been crying, and when it’s Darren making that noise, it pulls at Chris’s heart in the most uncomfortable of ways. He rubs his thumb on the back of Darren’s hand, wishing he could bring him more comfort, but there’s only so much he can do considering where they are.

“It’s just…” Darren blinks rapidly, and then flaps his hand in the general direction behind Chris. Eyebrows raised, Chris looks behind him, and not fifty feet from them is Princess Tiana, a line trailing away from her as children and adults alike walk up for pictures and hugs.

“Oh.” Chris turns back to Darren. “Did you, uh, want to meet her?” Chris can’t help the slight downturn to his mouth—that line is long, and if they want a chance of meeting her, they’ll have to ditch their lunches.

“No—” Darren stops, shakes his head. “Well, yeah, but not today, but there was this…” Darren presses his lips together. “There was this little girl in a Tiana dress, and she walked up, and Tiana knelt down and  _hugged_  her.”

Darren’s eyes are practically shining, and Chris has no idea where this story is going or how it leads to Darren in tears, but his attention is rapt through Darren’s stops and starts, hiccups and sniffles. What kind of boyfriend would he be if it wasn’t?

But Darren’s story seems to stop there, and Chris waits a few beats before asking, “So you’re crying because…?”

Pushing his glasses up and away from his eyes, Darren wipes away a few more tears, and then smiles.

“It was just  _so fucking beautiful_.”

And Chris can’t help it, then. He laughs—a hiccup of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and squeezes Darren’s hand where he’s still holding it.

“You are the  _biggest_  dork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read, reblog, & like on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/127729115170/minific-idea-9-crisscolfer)


	23. A Big Fucking Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris inviting him over to watch movies and shit is a _big fucking deal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **wickedwonder prompted:** For the mini fic: Crisscolfer and #12 please!
> 
> from [this prompt meme on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/127726673115/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a): "12. things you said when you thought i was asleep"
> 
> 813 words.

Darren doesn’t mean to fall asleep, only he’s tired and it’s not really his fault that he falls asleep basically anywhere. His days are so long lately, and he spends most of his nights either doing more things or cycling through the basic standards of living like eating and laundry and showering. For some reason, a decent night’s sleep never seems to factor in anywhere.

Which is how he ends up passed out on Chris’s couch, of all places. Chris, who had tentatively invited him over for takeout and possibly movies and just a chance to unwind, and Darren had jumped at the chance because Chris, like, never wants to hang out. Or, he does, but he never initiates it, and Darren knows when that kind of shit is a big deal.

Chris inviting him over to watch movies and shit is a  _big fucking deal_.

And like the asshole that he is, he’d fallen asleep. Again, not on purpose, and he wasn’t even aware that he had until he’s rousing back into consciousness, slow and steady and even, like his breathing.

It takes him a moment to wonder where he is, and what he’s doing, and what happens, before everything clicks into place.

1\. He’s at Chris’s house.

2\. He’d fallen asleep at some point.

3\. Someone is playing with his hair.

And unless Chris’s cat has a human hand (which,  _freaky_ , but also kind of awesome), then that someone has to be Chris.

Darren almost opens his eyes to check, but stops himself at the last moment. Chris isn’t the sort of person who offers up physical affection easily, and Darren takes each offered touch with the respect and reverence it deserves. The only reason he’s probably being so generous with it, so candid, is because he thinks Darren is asleep.

Well, Darren  _is_  an actor. It’s not hard to  _pretend_  to be asleep.

Plus, it feels  _really_  nice.

He turns his head slowly, as if it’s some sort of sleepy reflex, and finds his nose pressed into the denim stretched across Chris’s thigh. Huh. He wonders how he ended up in Chris’s lap.

Chris goes still for a moment, and Darren is afraid that he’s ruined the moment, but then his fingers are back, combing through curls hesitantly at first before they resume their previous temple, and Darren feels Chris’s body vibrate beneath his cheek before he hears the laugh come out of his mouth.

“If you were so tired, you should have just gone home,” Chris whispers, and his voice is warm and fond in a way that Darren has hardly ever heard it. It sounds so… Unguarded. So vulnerable. “But I’m glad you came over, even if it was just to sleep on me.” His fingernails scratch against Darren’s scalp, and it takes all the willpower he has not to groan in contentment.

“Maybe if I was braver, I’d ask you to hang out more, but…” He laughs again, slow and sleepy, and it almost lulls Darren back into unconsciousness. “I’ll just take what I can get—what you give me. It’s safer that way, I think… If I don’t ask for too much.” Chris’s hand stills, and Darren has to stop himself from butting up into his palm like a needy cat.

He has to fight to keep his face smooth and devoid of emotion now, confusion swirling through his head as he tries to figure out what Chris is talking about through the haze of exhaustion that hasn’t lifted from his mind.

Darren hears the long exhale of a sigh before Chris’s body shifts beneath him, the movements careful as if Chris is taking the utmost care in making sure he doesn’t disturb Darren. It’s… Sweet, but then again, Chris is always considerate in those small ways that people always think nothing of but that end up meaning the most, in the long run. Darren thinks maybe that’s why Chris’s friendship, his trust, is so fucking valuable to everyone.

It’s something  _worth_  having, worth fighting for.

Suddenly, he can feel Chris’s breath mussing his hair, and then there’s a pinpoint of pressure that lasts hardly a second and that Darren recognizes instantly as a kiss. Did… Did Chris just  _kiss his hair?_

Oh god, Darren’s heart feels like it might  _explode_  at how fucking cute he is.

“It, uh…” Chris laughs, shaky and unsure, fingers threading through Darren’s curls and just resting there, making Darren feel safe and calm in a way he can’t exactly explain. Maybe it’s just a Chris thing. There’s a smile playing on his lips that he can’t stop, that he’ll play off as a good dream if Chris ever brings it up, and he’s almost asleep again when Chris says, “It might be a little too late for that.”

And Darren’s asleep before he can even wonder what, exactly, Chris means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read, reblog, & like on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/127765432150/for-the-mini-fic-crisscolfer-and-12-please)


	24. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris almost calls out for Darren to stay, to forget the tea lights that may or may not exist, but feels stupid and stops himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **anonymous prompted:** crisscolfer, “you don’t have to stay.” pretty pretty please? :)
> 
> for [this meme over on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/127991139020/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill), where I took angsty dialogue prompts and made them fluffy.
> 
> 670 words.

It’s  _not_  that Chris is afraid of the dark, okay. It’s not that at all. He actually likes the dark, on certain occasions, when he’s prepared for it and is in control of it. When he flips the light switch at the end of the night, that’s fine. When a bulb in the living room busts and he has to change it by the light of the other ones, Chris can deal. When the sun goes down and LA doesn’t really get  _dark_  so much as  _dimmer_ , it’s whatever.

But when the power goes out, he gets a little… Well, jumpy.

And Darren isn’t helping matters.

“Hey, Chris—” Darren starts, practically materializing from the darkness, and Chris yelps and drops the flashlight he’s been gripping tightly in his hands. They both watch as it lands on the carpet and then rolls a few feet a way, spinning a spotlight on the living room wall. Chris breathes heavily, and Darren glances at him in amusement.

“Could you  _not_  do that?” Chris asks, gritting his teeth. “ _Please?_ ”

Darren holds up his hands in surrender, but he’s still grinning.

“Did you find out what’s wrong?” Chris asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before he makes his way over to his runaway flashlight.

“Nah,” Darren responds, fishing around in his pocket for his phone and using it as a light. “Wasn’t the breaker, so it’s probably just a more widespread blackout.” Darren squints in the darkness. “Do you have any candles?”

Chris pinches his face in thought.

“I might have some tea lights in the linen closet,” Chris muses, trying to remember, and Darren barks out a laugh.

“Dude, that was just like… The gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Darren says with a snort, and then ambles away. Chris frowns after him, and then shrinks in on himself. He almost calls out for Darren to stay, to forget the tea lights that may or may not exist, but feels stupid and stops himself.

It’s just a blackout. It’s just the dark. Chris curls up on his couch and rubs his arms and tries to convince himself of how stupid he’s being.

Darren isn’t gone long, and when he comes back, he’s setting tea lights down on the coffee table with not-so-careful  _clack clack clack_ s. He doesn’t say a word until he starts lighting them, hissing once when the flame catches his thumb instead of a wick.

“Look at this.” Darren gestures to the, honestly, pathetic display of tea lights. There are maybe six, and they provide very little in the way of light. “Mood lighting right the fuck here.”

Chris can’t help but laugh a little bit at that, still rubbing his arms, and Darren flops on the couch next to him.

“Are you cold?” Darren asks, confused. “It’s, like, a million degrees in here. Don’t be surprised if I start stripping.”

Chris shakes his head, vehemently. “No, I just…” He glances around, swallows.  _You’re being stupid_. “I hope the lights come back on soon.”

“I like blackouts,” Darren replies, matter-of-factly, reclining back against the couch cushions. “When I was a kid, I always thought they were fun. My mom would set up candles, and we’d break out board games and coloring sheets.” Darren sounds fond, and Chris wishes he had memories like that surrounding blackouts. But none of those memories are warm, or comforting, and he rubs his arms again.

Darren’s arm falls, warm and heavy and suddenly, around his shoulders, and Chris looks at him in surprise.

“You don’t have to stay,” Chris says but doesn’t mean.  _But I really, really want you to_. Darren just grins at him, and then picks up Chris’s flashlight, swinging it around with his other hand.

“And miss the chance to re-enact Vader and Obi Wan’s epic light saber duel? Not on your life.” He twirls the flashlight around, making a  _schwing_  noise that is nothing like a light saber, and Chris can’t help but smile.

“I get to be Vader.”

“Naturally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read, reblog, & like on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/128230570055/crisscolfer-you-dont-have-to-stay-pretty)


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